this hour and place, was calculated to rouse up my whole soul. His
occupation was mysterious and obscure. Was it a grave that he was
digging? Was his purpose to explore or to hide? Was it proper to watch
him at a distance, unobserved and in silence, or to rush upon him and
extort from him, by violence or menaces, an explanation of the scene?

Before my resolution was formed, he ceased to dig. He cast aside his
spade and sat down in the pit that he had dug. He seemed wrapped in
meditation; but the pause was short, and succeeded by sobs, at first low
and at wide intervals, but presently louder and more vehement. Sorely
charged was indeed that heart whence flowed these tokens of sorrow.
Never did I witness a scene of such mighty anguish, such heart-bursting
grief.

What should I think? I was suspended in astonishment. Every sentiment,
at length, yielded to my sympathy. Every new accent of the mourner
struck upon my heart with additional force, and tears found their way
spontaneously to my eyes. I left the spot where I stood, and advanced
within the verge of the shade. My caution had forsaken me, and, instead
of one whom it was duty to persecute, I beheld, in this man, nothing but
an object of compassion.

My pace was checked by his suddenly ceasing to lament. He snatched the
spade, and, rising on his feet, began to cover up the pit with the
utmost diligence. He seemed aware of my presence, and desirous of hiding
something from my inspection. I was prompted to advance nearer and hold
his hand, but my uncertainty as to his character and views, the
abruptness with which I had been ushered into this scene, made me still
hesitate; but, though I hesitated to advance, there was nothing to
hinder me from calling.